I am not sure if any of you have heard the rumors about me getting a book deal. I just wanted to announce here first that it is in fact true. The reason for any announcement at all is twofold, actually:

1. Most important, I want to thank the readers of my column for really pushing me to write this book. Those constant suggestions and prodding really made me take a look at what I was saying, and indeed at how I was writing it. The Weekly staff have also been invaluable to me--certain editors here have made a big difference as far as what they expect from me. That too makes for a better product.

2. I want to also make clear that this book is not a GN'R "tell-all" or some other such "rock" book. There are a lot of those at this point. Sure, I will touch on all of that, as it is part of my story, but only just a part of it. Rather, it will be a story of an ordinary guy who met with extraordinary circumstances, and the circumnavigation through these situations. If you have been a reader of my column, then you get the general idea of my headspace. I WILL be writing this myself, thick or thin.

Touchstone, a division of Simon and Schuster, will publish my book in Fall 2011. Stacy Creamer, Touchstone VP and Publisher, will be my editor. I am excited that Tim Mohr, my old editor at Playboy, will be joining me too on this challenging venture and chapter of my life. Tim has edited the likes of Hunter S. Thompson. I look forward to him throwing out thousands of my words and telling me that I am full of shit on a daily basis!

So, after youíve made history as the bass player with one of the wildest rock bands in the world, what do you do?

If youíre Duff McKagan, anything you want to!

In the years since his departure from Guns íN Roses, McKagan has cleaned up his life as a hardcore partier; become a husband and father of two girls; founded a "supergroup" band (Velvet Revolver); earned his degree in finance from Seattle University; formed his own rock group, Duff McKaganís Loaded; begun writing a weekly column for Seattle Weekly; a financial column for Playboy.com called "Duffonomics"; and he recently began a weekly radio show for a local Seattle radio station.

Whew! This guy is busy.

In a recent phone interview with McKagan, who is on the road touring with his band and promoting the groupís new album, "Sick," he took time to reflect on his life and the future.

"Life is not boring right now," he said with a laugh.

McKagan and his band, consisting of guitarist Mike Squires, bass player Jeff Rouse and drummer Geoff Reading, will be appearing at the 2009 Discorus Festival of Rock at the Oklahoma City Zoo Amphitheatre today.

Fronting his group as the main vocalist, and playing guitar this time around, McKagan takes a different role from his days as the ultimate rock bass player by taking the reins and doing what he loves to do, and that is play good, old-fashioned hard rock Ďní roll.

"Iíve always been able to do what I want musically, with Velvet Revolver and Guns íN Roses," McKagan said when asked how his new band was different. "I just think this band is more about rock Ďní roll. I think itís in the same vein, maybe itís a bit rawer, than Velvet Revolver was."

Taking the position as the lead singer for the group is something that wonít surprise many of the musicianís older fans, who might remember McKagan as singing harmony and the occasional lead for Guns ĎN Roses, but not as much for Velvet Revolver. He said he has found that singing every song, every night, is not that big of a challenge.

"Iíve been singing since I was 13 or 14, and I think my body has just adapted to having to sing every night," McKagan said. "You figure out how to use the muscles in your diaphragm. I havenít damaged my vocal chords yet. We did a tour in the U.K. last fall, and we played every single night, and I didnít lose my voice once. I guess Iíve finally find the mix where I havenít done too much damage. Iíve found the range Iím comfortable with."

Listening to the new album, "Sick," which debuted on the Billboard charts as a Top Heatseeker, the listener can hear the various musical influences that McKagan has been involved with over the years. Blistering guitar leads, pumping bass lines and driving drums are the mainstays of this album, which truly feels like a revival of rock Ďní roll. The catchy hooks in the albumís first single, "Flatline," and subsequent release, "No More," are "earworms" that could hang on for days.

Even using an unexpected horn section on "Blind Date Girl" shows McKaganís vast musical background. The youngest of eight children, all of whom played one musical instrument or another, McKagan drew upon older brother Mattís jazz background to find a killer horn section for the cut.

"Some friends of my brotherís provided the horns," he said. "Matt (McKagan) played all the horn stuff on the Guns íN Roses songs, like ĎLive and Let Die,í so he turned me on to some guys he knew up in Seattle. Some session guys. They came in, we sang the melody, and the horns just came in and rocked it.

Lately McKagan has become as well known for his writing prowess as for his musical ability. His weekly column/blog for the Seattle Weekly (www.seattleweekly.com) has a generous following, and he also writes a monthly column on finance for Playboy.com, in which he dispenses cool-headed advice in plain, easy-to-understand terms for the layman about the economic highs and lows of today. But being on the road promoting the new album and dealing with deadlines has proven to be tricky.

"You know what itís like to have a deadline," McKagan said. "I go to the back of the bus and just kind of peck out a column. I write a lot when I fly. Itís a great place to do some writing."

McKagan is also in the beginning stages of a book about his lifeís adventures and experiences.

"I just started writing," he said. "Weíll see how it goes, maybe up to 10,000 words and then Iíll actually sit down and read it and see if itís going in the right direction. I like writing, and I donít take myself too seriously, so it should be interesting."

Anything Duff McKagan sets his mind to is bound to be interesting.

Only time will tell what the lanky rock musician will put his hand to next.

Duff has posted the first 9 chapters/80 pages of his book on his new website.

From Duff:

My friends and old band members may remember some of the stories I recount differently than I do, but I have found that all stories have many sides. These are my stories. These are my perspectives. This is my truth.

From an interview earlier this month where he talks about being approached to write a book...looks like he decided to write one.

Reuters: Have you thought about writing a memoir like Slash did?

Duff: "I've been approached recently by different publishing houses to write a book ... If I wrote a book, '90 through '93, it's a grey area in my memory. It would open up something like, 'Here I sit in my living room. I just hit my 45th year. I remember my dad was 45. Some might have said I wouldn't have made it to this age. I've got kids underfoot.' And maybe flashback to 1994, when I was in the emergency room when my pancreas blew up. But it would have to be funny."

From an interview earlier this month where he talks about being approached to write a book...looks like he decided to write one.

Reuters: Have you thought about writing a memoir like Slash did?

Duff: "I've been approached recently by different publishing houses to write a book ... If I wrote a book, '90 through '93, it's a grey area in my memory. It would open up something like, 'Here I sit in my living room. I just hit my 45th year. I remember my dad was 45. Some might have said I wouldn't have made it to this age. I've got kids underfoot.' And maybe flashback to 1994, when I was in the emergency room when my pancreas blew up. But it would have to be funny."

Well, from what he said, I dont think it reveals anything about actually doing the book, but I think that just the fact that he mentions the approach by the publishing houses, kind of tells us where he's heading... And I think it will add another interesting note on the GnR saga, and I hope both Izzy, Steven and Axl should write one each 2! Then we could read them all, and somewhere in the mix of all of them we would probably get the inside truth!!

McKagan is also in the beginning stages of a book about his lifeís adventures and experiences.

"I just started writing," he said. "Weíll see how it goes, maybe up to 10,000 words and then Iíll actually sit down and read it and see if itís going in the right direction. I like writing, and I donít take myself too seriously, so it should be interesting."

McKagan is also in the beginning stages of a book about his lifeís adventures and experiences.

"I just started writing," he said. "Weíll see how it goes, maybe up to 10,000 words and then Iíll actually sit down and read it and see if itís going in the right direction. I like writing, and I donít take myself too seriously, so it should be interesting."

Yeah, I dident mean that interview, but you're right, he kind of make it official there, so, my bad!

A couple of months back, I wrote that I was going to test little bits and pieces of a potential book I may write. If I do enough of these tests, who knows? I may just have the start of a larger work. To make things coherent and in context, I will present things here in a broader sense. Think of it as an outline. Here goes another installment.

The memories I have of the mid-to-late-'80s Hollywood rock scene do not necessarily include bands that may pop into one's mind. My band, Guns N' Roses, and the close network of friends that we kept, were a ragtag bunch of outcasts that remained rather insulated and kept to ourselves during this period. We had little in common with the popular L.A. bands then. Though parts of this story may seem a bit dark, this period of my life was one of the funnest and most profound. It also contained many strong elements of a young man's rite of passage, including a loss of innocence in many respects and facing mortality as a result of losing close friends to overdoses. Maybe not the usual rites of passage, but at the time these life hurdles seemed normal.

I packed my bags and cut my ties with my hometown of Seattle in September 1984. The idea of driving to New York in my beat-up 1971 Ford Maverick became moot as soon as I realized that, on a budget of $360, the East Coast was just too far away. I decided Los Angeles was a safer place for me than the heroin-infested punk scene of the Pacific Northwest. I was badly mistaken.

There was really no discernible rock scene there in the fall of '84--only the palpable hangover of a once-thriving punk movement, mixed with "cow-punk" and really bad heavy metal (Metallica had just moved back to S.F.). I met Slash and Steven Adler shortly after my move, through a "musicians wanted" ad I saw in a newspaper. Izzy Stradlin moved into an apartment across the street from me. (We lived on one of the most drug-infested lanes in Hollywood, visited nightly by dealers, hookers, and cops. Stories of this street alone would make a GREAT book.) Axl, a childhood friend of Izzy's, soon moved in around the corner in our cheap-rent neighborhood. We formed our band shortly thereafter, a happy bunch of malcontents!

My new musical comrades and I shared an uncanny similarity in the "fuck-everyone-except-us" approach to writing, playing, and living our music. We sought to do this thing on our own terms and in our own way. This was simply a way of life. At that point in life, you've just got nothing to lose . . . a relatable point to anyone reading, I am sure.

The first gigs we got back then were with bands like Social Distortion, Tex and the Horseheads, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The "glam" scene across town seemed to be a private club that had some mysterious secret handshake. The Troubadour was always packed on weekends. At the time, I think that we were thought of as a little too dirty to get an opening slot on those most-coveted Friday and Saturday night bills. We would have to get there on our own.

Our social circle soon included a group of recently transplanted New Yorkers who moved out West to--I always suspected--escape legal problems. "Red" Ed, Petey, and Del melded nicely into our lifestyle, which included 24-hour alcohol consumption, scoring any available drugs, sundry debauchery, and plenty of Rolling Stones, Motorhead, Sly and the Family Stone, and Rose Tattoo (Sly lived in the apartment right above me, as it turned out, but that's another story). West Arkeen was another co-conspirator who became valuable not only for his friendship but for his songwriting. West co-wrote "It's So East," which became a dark anthem for a legion of disenfranchised youth. West died a few short years later from complications stemming from acute crack and heroin use.

In 1985-86, AIDS was definitely something to think about, but not a huge threat yet in the hetrosexual psyche. The scene in Hollywood became an orgy of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. Perhaps there has been no other time in recent history when the doors were so wide open to EVERYTHING. Needles were shared as well as girlfriends and boyfriends. Everyone seemed to be living in and for the moment, and it seemed as if nothing was off-limits. A real feeling of camaraderie was felt within our band and small group of friends. "Live fast and die young" was our unspoken credo. Sounds corny now.

Our living and rehearsal arrangements became one and the same as we became closer-knit. We found a 10x14 foot bathroom-less space behind the Hollywood Guitar Center that became the center of our musical universe and HQ for all things hedonistic. We raided a nearby construction site for some two-by-fours and plywood that we used to install a ramshackle sleeping loft in our tiny new home. We rehearsed twice daily in this space. For $1.29 a bottle, we could supply ourselves with enough Night Train wine to get us by. Food was always optional in those days.

We slowly began to be a draw at local clubs, and our song craftsmanship really started to get a solid base. We were soon on weekend bills as opening slots gave way to headlining. A&R staff from major labels started to pop up at gigs, and our shows were now selling out. We settled on a record deal with Geffen Records that gave us free rein as far as artistic freedom went. At the end of the day, no one was going to tell us how to make our record. Our songs were by far the most important thing to us.

thing is, he have said numerous times that there's a period of a few years when he don't remember anything.. how will he write about that? it's pretty much the most interresting part of it, and his side of the axl/slash shit (and I hope no one starts anything after my mention of that)

so he doesn't remember some parts; it doesn't matter because he admits it and i'm sure he'll use the disclaimer if he writes about those times; unlike slash who couldn't even remember where he was born

so he doesn't remember some parts; it doesn't matter because he admits it and i'm sure he'll use the disclaimer if he writes about those times; unlike slash who couldn't even remember where he was born

I can't remember where I was born and don't have any recollection of that event. Do you? Big deal.

In an attempt to flesh out some stories that may one day be a gateway to a larger literary body of work, I'm going to write some short pieces. That said, I am a little scared to share some of these stories, in that they are not meant to influence youth in any way, shape, or form. Hey, maybe they can be construed as cautionary tales?

I may be charged with trying to glorify and glamorize certain things that I went through. I am not. As an aside: I don't believe our parents were to blame for any of our miscreant behaviors. In my case, I was the last of eight kids, and by the time I was 9, my parents had divorced and my mom was pretty much left to provide for our household on her own. This meant she had no other choice but to leave me with a lot of responsibility, and I just didn't rise to the occasion right away.

I wish I could've been a better son in those difficult transition years for my mother. I still kick myself for some of the hell that I surely put her through. I look back now, and it's obvious I was trying to figure out where my place was in this world without a father figure at home to rely on as a role model.

My father, conversely, was trying to figure out what life was about, period. I do not blame him for anything (although I certainly did back then). He was a WWII vet who started having children with my mother when he was 18 and didn't stop until he was 38. He went straight from the war to working for the Seattle Fire Department, desperately trying to provide for what would become eight children. By the time I was in elementary school, I believe that he was simply feeling trapped and wanted to see what else life had in store for him. He never had a chance to be a kid, and in my opinion he wanted to try to get some of his youth back. But he should have gone about his whole scheme another way. My saintly mom was left "holding the bag," and we eight brothers and sisters cherish the memory of this amazing and strong woman. Marie Alice McKagan endured this all with a lion's heart, a scholar's intellect, and lots of patience.

I started smoking pot at a really young age: 4th grade, to be exact. I took my first drink at 10 and tried LSD for the first time at 11. In the '70s, there just wasn't the huge stigma and general warnings about child drug use. We were just experimenting, that's all. But this piece isn't going to be about drugs; I'm just trying to highlight the fact that we seemed to grow up a bit faster back then. No, this story is really about crimeócar theft, to be exact.

The best friends I established by 6th grade are my best friends to this dayóAbe, Edgar, and Bob (I've changed their names here). The four of us were pretty much inseparable. They are good and solid men, but back in middle school we tested our boundaries against grown-ups and authority. We were harmless troublemakers, really, but soon found ourselves in the line of fire of an asshole counselor at Eckstein Middle School. In my case, I was suspended twice and finally expelled. "Yeah, good riddance," I remember thinking. Besides, I was already crafting a new career for myself.

Abe and I started to separate ourselves from the pack at this point. We both embraced the new and exciting punk-rock scene that had recently hit Seattle. Abe and I formed the Vains with Chris Utting in 1979, three years before we were of legal driving age. In the daylight hours, I would take the bus anywhere and everywhere that I had to be for band practice or my new job as a dishwasher, etc. When it got dark, though, Abe and I began to hone our craft as burgeoning car thieves.

I remember clearly the first car we, um, borrowed. It was a 1963 VW Bug. It all seemed innocent enough at first. It was 2 a.m., and we were stuck without a ride home at some punk-rock party in deep Ballard. It being Seattle and all, of course it was raining and cold. Abe and I only got about 10 blocks into our seven-mile walk when it dawned on us to try to steal a car and drive the rest of the way home.

We had heard of a simple way to trip an ignition on any and all pre-'64 Bugs, but had never put our knowledge to the test. We soon found our car, and clumsily broke in a wing window with a jackboot. Once we got the car started, we both realized that neither of us knew how to drive a car, let alone one with a clutch. We found out the hard way that first gear can indeed get you from point A to point B, seven miles away, albeit slowly.

When you are a kid, the lust for being of driving age is nothing short of intoxicating. Abe and I discovered after our first night in the stolen VW that we no longer had to wait until we were 16 to have access to a car. We began to sharpen our tactics and skill as car thievesóeven studying new ways to hot-wire Peugeots and Audis. Sometimes we even held onto certain cars for a week or more, parking them in rich neighborhoods where the police would be less likely to look for a stolen vehicle.

On top of this, it was at times the things we found inside these cars that would lead us to criminal activities outside the car-stealing racket. Once we found a large set of keys that had only an address attached. This address was a large laundromat, and the keys were to the lock-boxes that held all of that particular day's change intake (hundreds of dollars a day, which to us was a fortune).

Our exploits began to garner attention from older, savvier criminals. The newspaper began to run stories of things we were involved in, and this is when I began to see only a dire ending for myselfójail or worse. It was time to get out. Besides, at this point my music career began to get more serious, and I met a girl. I was done.

Abe, however, continued to widen his circle of criminal activities a while longer. He started to hang with a crowd that, while exotic, also seemed a bit dark and dangerous. Abe started to specialize in particular foreign makes, stolen for particular clients who were willing to pay. Edgar, Bob, and I became concerned. Abe was arrested one night after a high-speed chase with Seattle police. The crimes? Grand Theft Auto and Reckless Evading. Shit.

Having kids of my own now makes me realize just how very young I was when I did some of these things. I cringe looking at my daughters sometimes. They know of some of my childhood antics; the more serious stories can wait. The weight I have to carry is one day having to share it with them. The McKagans do honesty these days, and I probably learned that from my own father not doing it.

Facing a tough market for book sales, publishers are turning more and more to the tried and true. That's good news for onetime Guns N' Roses and Velvet Revolver bassist Duff McKagan (pictured), whose autobiography was up for auction last week. Rock star memoirs have become a hot category in recent years.

According to the 40-page proposal making the rounds of publishing houses, Mr. McKagan's book would begin on the day in 1994 when his pancreas burst from alcohol abuse. It would recount his rise through the music scene, his fall into drug abuse and his recovery, which included two years of celibacy and a degree in finance from Seattle University.

Bidding last week topped $250,000, according to an industry source. Mr. McKagan's agent, Dan Mandel, did not return a call seeking comment.